The Zennist

A good teacher

A good teacher of Zen knows the limits of what they have the capacity to teach and not teach. For the most part, a good teacher cannot teach a person how to become a Buddha since they are not yet, themselves, Buddhas. They try to avoid the example of the blind leading the blind. According to the Vimalakirti-nirdesha Sutra, "No one who is himself in bondage can release the bonds of others." They may teach, however, their enthusiasm for Zen. Indeed, it is very proper to teach the joy of walking the path; that it is not drudgery but, instead, an exciting adventure of self discovery.

What I learned from my teachers, especially my first teacher, was not anything about Zen (as I look back, he was quite a beginner himself). What I learned from him was the sheer joy of that comes from studying Zen. It can’t be described anymore than one can adequately describe sensing chilled air before sunrise drinking a cup of genmaicha (green tea with popped rice)?

If a teacher can introduce you to a love of Buddhism—this is wonderful! You will have more than enough to carry you through the many years as you study the Buddha’s many discourses. In fact, it takes great enthusiasm to travel on the path; to be able to delve into the tacit subtlety of the teaching. One has to look into their mind as if they were a jeweler looking at a precision watch.

Nuance of introspection is everything. Our mind, we must see, contains minute variations and delicate gradations. There are subtle distinctions between sensory reflection and the beholder’s connection with sensory reflection arising on the tissue of the corporeal. There are non-spatial distinctions that have to be made between the Five Aggregates (skandhas) and the non-aggregated beholder of these distinctions. Most teachers cannot teach us this. In fact, a good teacher will tell you to go to the solitary mountains and look deeply within yourself. If you are good, you will begin to pick up clues as to what precisely is meant by Mind (citta) which is not yet transformed into a determinate thought. In fact, you might, one cold winter night, resonate with the unborn or waveless Mind which is indeterminate It could be for a split second or even longer. But it will be sufficient enough to introduce you to Mind (citta); to give you faith and even more reason to stay on the path.

Hinayana nirvana

In the Hinayana interpretation of Buddhism, nirvana appears to be something akin to the Western concept of entropy. In nirvana, being, so to speak, has gone to coolness or in the parlance of science, thermal death (zero is also mentioned). As long as the Hinayana adept doesn't add fuel, by way of desire, to the Five Aggregates (which is a closed system), the Hinayanist will eventually reach entropy (nirvana). A strikingly similar view of this is given by the late Theravada monk, Walpola Rahula.

“An Arahant after his death is often compared to a fire gone out when the supply of wood is over, or to the flame of a lamp gone out when the wick and oil are finished. Here it should be clearly and distinctly understood, without any confusion, that what is compared to a flame or a fire gone out is not Nirvana, but the ‘being’ composed of the Five Aggregates who realized Nirvana” (Rahula, What the Buddha Taught, 41–42).

One of the apparent problems with such a view is that if there is a maximum entropy, there was prior to entropy its very opposite this being negative entropy or the same, syntropy, which implies an open system. To be sure, something doesn't arise from utter absence. And before something can become zero, it must exist.

From a spiritual perspective, that is, Mahayana, an open, self-creating and sustaining system is prior to and higher than the closed (hina) system which ends in entropy. More importantly, the closed, entropic system falls within the frame of the greater (maha) open system which is the very fount of life. What, in fact, transmigrates from one life to another, in the context of rebirth, is life inherently free of entropy but still inadequate inasmuch as it wrongly identifies with closed or contained systems (alaya).

Using the physicist Schrodinger’s belief that life feeds off of negative entropy so that it truly never enters into entropy or dissipates, Mahayana seeks to reveal to us, not the entropic but, instead, the eternal negentropic (negative entropy). Indeed, the Buddha of Mahayana will show sentient beings that on the great ocean of Mind only the waves are entropic.

What Mahayana argues against the Hinayana position, is that the flames of the world are created by the mind that self-limits and containerizes itself (âlaya) into an entropic system (this is like an ocean that can only see itself as waves). This inversion can never lead us to true nirvana. Furthermore, to believe that nirvana is entropy is annihilationism which the Buddha abhorred. It can also be characterized as a false nirvana (this is explained in the Lotus Sutra).

Nirvana is not, in any sense, entropic but, instead, is the exiting process from the closed system (i.e., the temporal body) and the subsequent knowing and seeing of negentropy in which one feeds on bliss (sukha).

"Let us dwell feeding on bliss (sukha) like the shinning gods" (Dhammapada, 200).

Such a higher world can only be described as being in the possession of a spiritual heart that shines forth with a radiant love which nothing can limit. It is as if one tapped into an unlimited power supply which, as it is compassionately deployed, grows even more. In essence, it is realized freedom in which spirit (tathata) has disentangled itself from its limiting phenomena.

The ten down-goings

In the Mahanidana Sutta of the Digha-Nikaya (Sutta 15) which is found in the Pali or Nikayan canon, there are only ten antecedent causes (nidâna = ni–dâ: to bind down) or down-goings, which embody us to death and subsequently rebirth—not the usual twelve.

The ten antecedent causes or nidanas are as follows: Old age and death, which are caused by birth (jati). Birth, it follows, is caused by corporeal generation (bhâva = bhu: to become). Corporeal generation, then, relies on clinging to corporeal existence. Clinging is caused by thirst or desire (trishna). Thirst is caused by sensation which depends upon contact. Contact further depends on the six sensory organs. Finally, the six sensory organs have their origin or cause of dependence on the biological form (namarupa) which consciousness (vijnana), the tenth cause, energizes thus entering into reflection. By this I mean that, according to the Buddha, consciousness conditions or energizes the biological form (i.e., the corporeal being) which, in turn, conditions consciousness. This amounts to, in other words, a vicious circle.

If our consciousness, before we became embodied in the ovum, had no propensity to engage with the fertile ovum, we would not be born, according to the Buddha. As a result, there would be no suffering, as we know suffering. Suffering can only arise through consciousness depending on the biological form (namarupa), thus entangling itself in the armature of the corporeal; becoming bound with it; losing all sense of unboundedness (nirvana).

Awareness of what?

Within the wondrous mind of the original vast quiescence—pure, clear, perfect illumination—there is not a single thing that can cause obstruction.

— Zen master Ta-hui

Some Buddhists will insist that the the “wondrous mind” is our awareness. Why do they believe such nonsense? Awareness is held fast to the tissue of the physical brain watching it being energized; being utterly clueless as to what is beyond the ken of biological tissue. If this awareness could penetrate through the rind of this dense tissue (in which case it would no longer be passive) it might see something else. It might enter the dazzling world of pure Mind which is utterly luminous and disembodied.

Unfortunately, our awareness or vijnana (the fifth Mara skandha) has glommed onto to name & form (namarupa). In one respect, the latter is the one as differentiated in which the one is hidden by the waves of its pluralization into phenomena. It another respect, name & form comprise the whole of the biological mass we like to think of as being who we really are. This includes all of our senses and the data they receive.

Constrained by our biological body, which is the true meaning of suffering, we fail to recognize is that our awareness has been glomming onto biological tissue ever since mom and dad had intercourse and got lucky; mom’s fertilized egg, so to speak, tuning us in. Even more unfortunate, we can’t tell light from flesh. But if we are to return to the light, we must pierce through shadow which is biological tissue. We can’t just back up. We have to wind our way through the labyrinth of flesh like the Greek character Theseus who made his way through the deadly labyrinth.

If we use the Buddha’s teaching as our guide we will be able to transcend the flesh. Our awareness will then merge with the unseen, the eternal, and the luminous.

In fine, our very awareness of the temporal, which is displayed on biological tissue, is the obstruction of which Zen master Ta-hui speaks. Zen is asking us to bore a hole through this obstruction—of course, not in a literal sense. We have to engage with what is beyond the local boundary of biological tissue. It can be done. But it takes a lot of concentration.

Chapter Three: Buddhism for the Advanced Person

I realize I have tried to do the impossible with this blog, this is, speak to the heart of Zen, even though it is a mystical—and yes—a recondite subject. However, there is a good reason for trying to speak to the heart of Zen. It is called human nature and this nature’s drive to perfection. People, as far as Buddhism is concerned, hardly want to be spoon fed like little babies. Far from it, most people yearn for a challenge that will shake their very souls but which will leave them with great wisdom. In other words, nobody wants a negative challenge that leads to failure.

Now, if I were to hand out a book to an audience about Buddhism with three chapters in it which are as follows: Chapter One: Buddhism for Dummies; Chapter Two: Buddhism for the Mediocre Person; Chapter Three: Buddhism for the Advanced Person, guess which one most everyone would turn to first? It is not that hard to guess. It would be Chapter Three.

Yet, over the years I have noticed a trend in Buddhist circles by beginners who want the Buddha’s teaching to be dumbed down, so to speak. But who are these people? I can’t imagine a normal human being who has been given the chance to learn a great mystery, flatly turn it down because they think of themselves as being dummies or mediocre. Such people need to accept the cold fact that Buddhism is not for them, and find another religion more in keeping with their prejudices and beliefs. Would they expect a class in chemistry to be dumbed down so that they might mix vinegar and baking power all day watching it foam?

Zen, in all candor, has never been a practice for either the dummy or the mediocre person. Far from it. Its history proves otherwise. While Zen centers and other Dharma centers are open to the general public the transmission of the light is only open to those who can distinguish a generated thought from the animative power which generates it. In other words, Zen ultimately caters to the spiritually advanced person who, in many cases, has a gift for this kind of intuition.

While for the dummy or the mediocre person Zen often rings as a beautiful curiosity, they fail to understand that the task of untangling the pure part of ourselves from our embodied predicament is no easy matter. When Zen master Chang-ching said:

They do not know that inherent nature has never been
sense objects,
That it is the gate of subtle wondrous great liberation,
Aware of all there is
Without being stained or obstructed.
This light has never stopped:
From ages past up to the present
It’s been steady, never changing.

Zen master Chang-ching’s heart was engaged with the pure Mind which is beyond the intellectual powers of even great minds to grasp, let alone the dummy or the mediocre person. Although this part of his poem is beautiful to read, the heart that composed it transcends our everyday world. Undoubtedly, the many cannot, in their entire lifetime, hope to advance to the mysterious mountain of Zen where true Zen is taught.

Despite this, I am of the belief that many want to make this big climb. They want to walk the mountain path to Zen’s mysterious temple hopefully to subject themselves to its harsh training that peels away the layers of dumminess and mediocrity so that all that remains of them is an open heart that can receive the light.

Ironically, the only thing that keeps the majority of spiritual seekers constrained is the dummy and the mediocre person who are in leadership positions, from heads of government to our place of employment, who witlessly and tirelessly endeavor to douse the lamp of good fortune and wisdom for the many. The world, for some as yet undisclosed reason, has been inverted for a long time.

When I hear the implicit call of some who want Zen to be made simplistic I always believe that the great majority are being deprived; who are open to Chapter Three. I have concluded that I have more faith in my fellow human beings than most—at least more than the dummies and the mediocre people.

Subjective tissue

The escape from samsara is hardly easy. It is so, because of how we are bound and entangled with our body which is quite subtle. The Buddha says that while an ordinary person, who lacks any spiritual depth, might feel a disgust or revulsion towards their physical body; even believing that they are actually liberated (nirvana) from its misfortunes, they still remain in bondage to their thoughts, their cognition (manas), and their sensory consciousness (vijnana). In other words, this ordinary person takes the subjective part to be their true being thinking, “This is mine, this I am, this is my self (atman)”.

If one might so put it, this amounts to a kind of reductionism in which the person merely shifts the previous value of the physical body to the more immediate and undeveloped subjective side as if to believe, “I am free of the physical body here in my thoughts.” What they overlook is that the tissue of the physical, which they are apparently rejecting is, in the subjective life, present as physical inner tissue. This is why the person, in their subjective world, is still embodied (samsara). The inner tissue, that is like an internal black screen displaying mental artifacts which are captivating, still belongs to the physical body. Such can be easily verified by introspection.

By further introspection there also occurs a lag between the direct animation of a mental sound and the subsequent sub-vocal sound, for example, “om”. The sub-vocal sound of om that is reflected upon by consciousness (vijnana), is the basis for attachment and bondage. In other words, the bringing to consciousness of subjective phenomena such as thoughts, experiences and emotions, and clinging to them in the belief that they are real, as my self (atman), is the crux of the problem. To reiterate, in subjectivity one is merely shifting the previous value of the physical body, as my self, to the more immediate and undeveloped world of the subject, as my self. Now the subject is of great value. This is also subjective vanity or what might be called egoism.

If we wish to attain complete liberation we must also transcend the subjective tissue. But we are quick to inquire, “What detaches from the physical body and subjective mental phenomena?” The only way to answer this is by reaching the limitation of both the physical and mental (i.e., the subjective). If the inquirers were physicists we might suggest that one has to reach ‘zero-point’ or the same, ‘zero-phase’. In Zen this is ekakara samadhi cittasa in which our mind (citta) singularizes itself, self-resonating (samadhi). This resonation (samadhi) is with the pure Mind (which is never plural) which is naturally liberated and has been this way forever.

Usually, when access is gained, and mind restores itself, there is a sense of being engulfed in pure light or spirit which can be quite strong. This indicates that we have remembered (smriti) the animative power of pure Mind; without which we would be, of course, quite dead. As a result, we are suddenly catapulted into the undying realm of nirvana. We have broken through the tissue (both physical and subjective) which embodies us; binding us to ever ending rebirths and suffering. Alternatively, we have broken through the spell of being captivated by phenomena appearing on the dark inner screen of the brain’s tissue. Even though we continually excite it, the subjective displays are not who we are. Our true being is pure Mind. We are intrinsically, Bodhisattvas.

The echo and the image

Zen master Fa-yung once said that “an echo in the valley already has a voice; an image in a mirror can look back at us.” At least for me, Fa-yung’s words are pointing to the predicament of embodiment to which we are presently constrained; bound, as it were, to the physical body and its contents.

Hearing the voice inside of our head is such an echo in the valley, while continually attending to our physical body is the image in the mirror. However, both the echo and the image amount to redundant duplications since mind is fundamentally liberated and self-actual; needing no other.

Clinging to the echo and the image can be likened to the problem Narcissus faced when he saw his image in the pool. Ovid writes of the delusion of Narcissus in a strikingly Buddhist way:

“As he tried to quench his thirst, inside him, deep within him, another thirst was growing, for he saw an image in the pool, and fell in love with that unbodied hope, and found a substance in what was only shadow.”

For the Buddhist, there is also the Narcissist delusion of clinging to the Five Aggregates (skandhas) that are believed to be the self or atman (the actual). The aggregates are verily the pool of Narcissus such that even our thoughts and experiences are reflections. And we, the self, are bent over them in love and clinging to something no more than a lifeless “marble statue”, to use Ovid’s words.

Because of our intense clinging as a lover to the image of the beloved, in this case, the echo and the image, we needlessly bind ourselves to the fate of an illusion (hence, our delusion, in other words). This fate is nothing less that suffering. As a result, we face countless rebirths; facing the echo and the image in which even death is part of the delusion. Ovid writes of this, profoundly, in which the deluded Narcissus is of the mind that the image of himself will die with him; and he will be without further troubles.

“And death is not so terrible, since it takes my trouble from me; I am sorry only the boy I love must die: we die together.”

But for the Buddha, death takes no such troubles away. Far from it. We are still, as mind, which is essentially eternal, under the influence (asrava) of our ignorance; our proclivity (samskara) as related to our ignorance; and our perceptual desire, connected with our proclivities of error, to see the other of the atman, which according to Ovid is, “only shadow, only reflection, lacking any substance.”

The transformation

"Like the waves of the ocean, Mahamati, the world which is the mind-manifested is stirred up by the wind of objectivity, it evolves and dissolves." — Lankavatara Sutra

The natural proclivity of the human mind is to engage with phenomena which includes the corporeal body. The subset of phenomena includes our daily thoughts and emotions, even including our experiences, hopes and dreams. It includes religious thought as well when it is devoted to eidola such as God.

When our consciousness is under the powerful habit of taking up such phenomena, that is, clinging to it, it is called alaya-vijnana (i.e., clinging consciousness which is also a matrix of percepts). In modern scientific parlance, the alaya-vijnana can be thought of as an immaterial torsion field which receives and bears a hidden order. Nothing escapes it.

If one might so put it, we thirst to be conscious of things and mental states so that the effect of such desire is borne by the alaya-vijnana which continually reinforces our thirst. As a condition, it is like a vicious circle. It should be stressed, that this proclivity dooms us, as spiritual beings (sattva), to an unending existence of cyclic rebirth and suffering.

Because our cognitive will (manas) is, so to speak, hooked on the alaya-vijnana mode of being, we are almost always cognizant of being phenomenally conscious which binds us to the body, i.e., the individuum, and by implication death and rebirth.

As we engage (alaya) with our everyday world, at the same time, we are unaware that we are cognizing or willing (manas) consciousness that is partaking of our body’s senses and sensory phenomena. Only during deep introspection can we, to some degree, delineate consciousness by cognitive willing (manovijnana) that is oriented towards sensory consciousness such as the consciousness of the physical body. This doesn’t mean we fully understand cognitive willing (manas) that is incorporeal and by implication, bodiless. However, during introspection the process of willing up consciousness that connects with our everyday embodied conscious life is hinted at. What is important is to recognize the subtly of our embodiment and how it takes place.

It almost goes without saying that our cognitive will (manas) is wrongly oriented which means it is defiled with wrong views. Moreover, our cognitive will has never witnessed pure Mind (cittamatra). Subsequently, it remains ever defiled and wrongly turned (aparavritti) towards sensory consciousness; being always excited and reinforced by the seed-like percepts in the alaya matrix. In fact, our cognitive attitude believes that we must depend on sensory consciousness. As a consequence, we are always cognizant of being entangled with sensory consciousness and embodied. But this is not the real picture of reality.

To escape the fate of samsara, our cognitive will must turn towards (paravritti) the bodiless pure Mind that is like a creative matrix (garbha) which is ubiquitous and eternal. This turning can also be understood to be a profound transformation in which the previous life of samsara is exchanged for the new life of nirvanic bliss that connects with the incorporeal eternal.

Because of this transformation we no longer perceive things (i.e., phenomena) in the normal way in which the world and things are spiritually empty; where we only sense sensations which can either be pleasurable or painful. Instead, we perceive things as constructions of spiritual substance or Suchness. To oversimplify this, we are conscious of spiritual bliss or light; and that things or phenomena are like waves made of this spiritual oceanic substance. Hitherto, we perceived only the waves—never the waveless living ocean.

"When Hui-neng (the Sixth Patriarch) saw someone in full-lotus posture, he took his staff and beat that person until they got up."

— Zen master Tsung-mi

The big question. Why did the Sixth Patriarch beat someone who was sitting meditation? Isn’t sitting supposed to gradually awaken the sitter? Isn’t sitting the very essence of Zen?

If one’s mind can begin to understand the reason for the beating from Hui-neng, they are far ahead of the Zen center ‘sitter’ who, like the body building enthusiast, feels an addictive compulsion to do sit down meditation (zazen). It should be obvious that a compulsion to sit only increases the disease of ignorance instead of curing it. Moreover it leads—not to pure Mind—but to more delusional thinking which confuses the means with the end.

It is fundamentally true that all physical practices such as sitting are conditioning and conditioned. On the same track, if our mind sticks to the practice of sitting, which is conditioning and conditioned, how will it ever behold the unconditioned pure Mind? And least we forget, in Zen, the real Dharma or teaching is unconditioned pure Mind—not sitting. In addition, all the various Sutras and Shastras; all the letters and words contained in them, are simply pointing to this Mind—not sitting.

Right now we are spellbound to this temporal body together with all of its various desires and woes which arise as a result of mind interfacing with it. It is as if the disembodied part of us were suffering from the effects of amnesia being unable to disengage from the embodied side delusively thinking, “This is mine; I am this, this is the self (atman) of me” when in fact it is not true.

Now, if we continue to sit in the full-lotus posture, being bound up with our embodied conditioned state, how is this going to help us turn around to see pure Mind which is not embodied (nirvana)? In particular, what technique has out teacher taught us by which to transcend the conditioned body to which we are presently yoked and dependent upon? Just to sit is not a fit answer. But surely there must be another way. And there is another way. It is the way of harmonizing with that which transcends our respiration, our mental images, and reflective consciousness (i.e., being conscious of being conscious).

Faith and belief

The Buddha did not have any secret knowledge that he wished to conceal. Yet, for the Buddha there was to be recognized a sharp distinction between what today we would call “faith” and “belief” or the real and the seeming. In this light, it would be correct to say that faith is esoteric (direct) while belief is exoteric (through another).

Faith (shraddha), according to the Avatamsaka Sutra is said to “extinguish all doubts” and “reveal the peerless way.” Faith, accordingly, is reckoned to be not the same as belief. Belief, in fact, is nothing more than an unproved proposition that can be either true or false. We have many beliefs that are no more than proposed or possible truths which remain unproved. We have beliefs about history or the very structure of matter. We have beliefs about our future. And we have many beliefs about the absolute such as a God or the nonexistence of God. But no belief, however strongly adhered to, can produce faith. As for a crisis of faith, there is none except that it is really a crisis of belief—a belief that is faithless.

Analyzing the two statements from the Avatamsaka Sutra, mentioned before, one can easily draw from these that faith, first of all, corresponds with the real and not the seeming. One has overcome, in fact, belief. On a personal level, faith is like a lodestar that convinces a person to take the Buddha’s path; perfecting their being. Foremost, faith, unlike belief, is the very apex of rationality insofar as faith reasons from the very inception of truth.

The matter of faith is always esoteric because within ourselves we have witnessed a spark of the ultimate, viz., our Buddha-nature. Without such faith, being in a continuous stream of deluded thoughts, how is enlightenment possible? In this state we can only believe, but never really know for certain. Thus, all of our steps will be those of a deluded person who mistakes their strong belief for faith. But for one who has true faith; who is no longer exoterically bound and oriented, profound faith is, foremost, a trusted guide on the path to enlightenment without which one is doomed.